Savior of the broken, beaten and the…
by Kasan Soulblade
Summary: Pathetic, adj. example, Severus Snape. He wasn't a kind man, but kindness' ghost plauged him at the oddest of times.  With one little Serpent, it was more than he'd like to admit.
1. Chapter 1

_Savior of the broken, beaten and the…._

_Chapter one: When I was_

_A Severus Draco fic, not slash, familial inclined. The title is based off a lyric from "My chemical Romance's: The Black Parade"._

Decorum, patience, and a near rock like stillness marked his charge. It had… changed over the years. The boy, his attitudes, his manner. What was allowed became more important than what was wanted, and though it hadn't happened yet, he waited with a wry dread, a dark anticipation, for what _they_ wanted to become what _he_ wanted.

At times, anticipation wasn't a good thing.

Still, it was there. Like pain, it affirmed and reaffirmed that life carried on. With such optimism beating in his heart he ushered his guest in the gloomy depths of his home. No dungeons here, merely mundanity, books, and bookshelves. Truthfully there _were _dungeons, but little minds were forbidden that information. The taboo was a result of an alliance between parent and keeper made long ago. It kept idle hands from discovering the joys of acid exposure, open flames, and the multitude of mishaps that potions labs inflicted on the careless.

And the arrogant.

The boy…

Severus sighed, wished to, truly he dared not indulge. Expression was forbidden per present company so he declined indulgence. Still he wished…

The boy, his nose was tipped up, his lips pressed into a cold thin line. Grey eyes, his father's trademark, flicked here, there, everywhere. From the doorway, forbidding himself the indulgence of actually passing the threshold, forbidding himself an encounter with the shabby the boy's patron and sire leaned upon his walking stick. Trademark sneer in full attendance. It was an expression the boy mirrored far too well.

But, most telling of all, mirrors and trademarks aside… was one fact. One interesting little bit of information that had all but wandered into his clutches.

(Once he'd coveted such information, a lifetime ago, risked life and limb for it, amusing it'd wander up to him now. _How_ things had changed…)

The man did not protest. Releasing his ward, his son, into the arms of a potential traitor. He didn't bat an eyelash as his boy, his legacy, walked amongst decay so ingrained it had never been grand before the rot settled in.

Really, traitor was a kindness. The home's owner mused, even as he went through absent graces and insincere offers of tea and the like. Being a traitor was a mercy. Truth be told the owner of the hovel was known as scum by the masses. Religiously tidy of his possessions, obstinately _un_fastidious about himself, it said much for a man who valued things over people and made an effort to flaunt it.

Even if those things were counter band, books, and universally shabby. They were relics of second hand shops, the occasional (shameful) dumpster dive, and the odd piece of loot from… better days.

Granted the "good old days" involved murder, brewing poisons, and torture (of others if you were lucky, but he'd had bad days and had the scars to prove it).

From his place, framed by wood, braced by earth, patron flicked his eyes to his son, than his son's keeper.

"Certainly with school out, it would not be so difficult…"

A gesture, black glad man slashed his hand through the air, silencing the aristocrat with a glare. They would not have this argument here. Not with the boy amongst them. Said child looked up from running a finger along a books spine. Looking both back and up, stiff backed, face placid (too placid, shuttered, closed off, the edges sealed with ice) he knew they were talking of him. But, though curious, he had no comment.

Hardly the actions of a prince.

That last drummed up a grimace the uninitiated would have thought of as a smile. Teeth bared, he inclined his head. A seeming invitation, but under the surface it was actually an order: _Enter and be damned_. He'd shunt them both to some corner, a hissed spell for privacy, and then he'd tell Lucius Malfoy what he thought of being hoisted off as some second rate babysitter…

Unmoved, unmoving, (unseeing, the idea was terrifying, quickened his heart though he didn't know why) Malfoy considered gloom and grit and was satisfied. He turned, forgetting in his malicious absent way a little matter of farewells.

To hell with this, to hell with him. To hell with place and station. Grimace morphed into a snarl as he stormed after the sharply dressed blonde. Black cloak and robes snapped about him, a tribulation all its own. A world away, a façade broke, ice melted, and the residue lingered….

Ripping open the door Lucius had absently closed he took one step, two. The crack, the absence of presence sensed, assured him that pursuit would be futile. Snarling he whipped about on his heel, slammed the door behind him as an afterthought.

Save, afterthoughts like his, had no real thought behind them, and were not absently malicious.

Rather wholly, fully, truly cruel.

The boy winced, cringed back against the shelf. Small mercy that he wasn't by the fire, else his startled hop might have left him amongst the flames.

A grate… he'd have to invest in one of those sometime soon he supposed...

Looking at the child, with only finery on his back and nothing else, and Severus Snape sighed. A loud this time. He'd need more than a grate, and there was no suppose about it.

"Mr. Malfoy." Grey eyes their attendant streams looked up at him, small features were twisted into misery. Wonderfully, joyous day this was. "I... assume you were informed as to who I am and how long you'll be here for?"

A headshake, wide eyes, but no to what, he wondered.

"My name Mr. Malfoy-" Each word was slow, grudgingly given, gone were the chances to save his voice... per tradition he'd scarcely talk once away from the dunderheads. Clearly this summer, he was not going to be allowed his annual reprieve. "-is Severus Snape."

To say he was a mite bitter was saying his place was a little gloomy. Still, he held to ghost's kindness, didn't make it as obvious as he could have, his bitterness. That head shook, golden blonde hair caught what little light there was this cloudy afternoon and glimmered about the edges.

"No _what_ boy!" he snapped.

"I don't… I don't know... you... or how long…" Tears flowed freer, to Severus' grunt the head lifted, looked up from the floor.

A start, of sorts.

"Fine." To that complete acceptance the boy blinked, fool jaw slack, eyes wide. "Time isn't an issue until September, we've time. As for _who_ I am… I'm your Godfather. But I suppose Lucius or Narcissa never told you _that_, did they?"

A head shake, he didn't turn to see it, didn't care really.

Wonderful, joyous day indeed. He wanted fire whisky, the strongest concentration he could get… But, with this.. complication… he wouldn't be able to indulge, would he? A glance at the tearful, fearful, face confirmed and affirmed his query.

Damn damn damn….

Still, he held to kindness' ghost, he'd not drink with the brat under foot. He may be a monster, a murder, but he drew the line at abusive bastard. That was a ghost too familiar that he'd never indulge.

Never mind that phantom shared so much of hium, was so much of him, even his face.


	2. Tea, a noun

Savior of the…

Chapter 2

Tea; a noun

The boy did a decent fish impersonation. Wide eyes, gap jaw, sickly pallor. It was his most charitable thought at the moment, and since charity was the theme of the day he stilled any and all other descriptors that ached to be followed up on. Turning about, least continued viewing break his will power and he actually indulgence in calling stupidity what it was, he made more of a show of pulling his trench coat on than was necessary.

All the better to avoid seeing the brat. Unfortunately looking away didn't really work when the subject of said ignoring wasn't content to remain so.

"You're a wizard."

Said wizard tucked his want into the deep pocket, after a idle moment contemplating his options he tucked his wallet inside as well. Patting both, habit to assure that the secure _was_ secure; he set long hands to a trail of buttons. Bottom to top, a peculiar inverse from the norm. Still, the route was familiar, the threadbare state of his black boat and that loose button halfway up attested to it.

"You're a wizard wearing Muggle clothes."

Scandalized was a rather feminine word... about the edges mind… still the littlest Malfoy (with the largest of mouths) projected it _so _well. Thus he indulged in a smile, one never seen. A deep breath after indulgence, another, and he smoothed his coat with scarred hands even as his face followed suit without a touch.

The silence that followed was blessed, he savored it, loitered truth be told… Wasn't sloth a sin? If so his indulgence was promptly punished.

"You know the ministry's trying to pass a law-" and listened to the quiet die, just like that, a scowl twisted his features, "to make Muggle trash illegal."

"They'll need a multitude of Scorgify's and Vanishings to pass such a thing."

"Huh?"

Pulling his gloves from the pocket where-the-want-was-not (also know as the oversized right pocket) he pulled one on that the other. They were gifts, from long ago. Once glossy and bright they'd lost shine and newness but never his affection. Never mind the thread that tickled his right wrist and all its allusions of a greater decay. As for the left, its acid born proforations about the palm, they were almost… endearing.

"My father works for the ministry you know." Ah, the brat had regrouped, wonderful. Knowing where the speech was headed (redundant anyone?) he grunted, ran a hand over leather and skin and wished he was a little more amoral.

Than killing curses wouldn't be beyond him.

Really the child was small, slam enough to be stuffed into a trash bin after a spot of killing. He had a multitude of poisons, some of them contact, he could just nip right on down and…

"You know, you _are_ a wizard right? _Smart_ wizards listen to the ministry."

"Which your father is a member of, yes, I know you've said it twice already." He tucked his hands in the smaller pockets, one on each side. They ran parallel to the seams of his coats sides, almost touching the stitching that held it all together. Too vigorous an action would split the seams. "Despite how poorly you allude to it though, I won't be listening to some snot nosed, arrogant brat who hasn't even gotten his Hogwarts letter. And as head of house of Slytherin I'm not entitled to listen to you once you get your letter anyway. _You_ will be listening to _me_."

Ah, silence once again, wonderful blessed quiet. But tears this time, crocodilian in variety though. They'd sprung too soon, too quick, and there was no reddening of the brat's nose that had been part and partial to a real fit.

The one he'd had to listen to an hour or so ago. When Lucius had left, leaving his son behind to a confirmed murderer.

"Now," He drawled, voice soft, lethal. "As we've already established I am not a nice man. And I'm unfair and cruel but I'm going to break the trend and be reasonable towards you and explain something. You have two choices. Either you go upstairs to the room I've designated as yours and change into the clothes I've left for you, or I drag you up there, petrify you, and leave you there until I return."

Silence, shocked, another fish impersonation was given. It took effort not to laugh, not to snigger. Still he managed, somehow.

"But they're _Muggle_."

And ratty, old, dated, holey. The blanks were filled in so nicely but the boy's tone. He smirked, reached for his wand and once it was free tapped it against his chin.

"Do you have a preferred petrification spell, we could go classic, but it leaves one so horridly numb after." He let his eyes light up, showing some mirth. "Perhaps, maybe a stinging hex could be combined to assist with circulation…"

"Ah! I'm going I'm going!"

So the brat went. Racing up the stairs without a further word, but not without further sound. Really, for something so small, the Malfoy could be bloody heavy footed.

Alone, for now, he indulged a sigh.

"Like father like son" had never seemed more of an indication of damnation than it did now.

What a bloody spectacular world. Turning his back on the stairwell, (once hidden, now not, once a bookshelf had been rolled away that was) he stared at the flames. They flickered, were stereotypical in their red and orange hue. Nothing spectacular really.

They were, by far and large, the better sight. The alternative (living and speaking and so bleeding familiar even in its ignorance born audacity) wasn't worth considering. But here he was, considering…

Thinking of things needed, grates and food and the like.

He had no food, went to the Leaky Caldron once a day for a bite noonish. One meal, one day, was all he really needed. He kept bread and some wilted vegetables on hand for when hunger occasionally reared it's head. But the vegetables were beyond wilted, a fetching pre sludge brown actually, well those that he'd recognized. The purple mound in its paper bag wasn't something to be considered. His faithful loaf of bread –two end slices, mold plucked off before the boy spied it- had been burned whilst toasting. Thus he was utterly and completely without food.

Something the little big mouth _had_ to point out.

Furthermore the brat had the audacity to refuse the charred bricklets Snape had offered as sustenance. He'd insisted it was toast, as a teacher he'd know best, as an adult surely…

But clearly Lucius' little viper wasn't that gullible. He'd missed his window of opportunity. And his noble sacrifice of nibbling on one of the ashy things to prove it was "good" hadn't worked. At present his semi-working taste buds were rallying a protest of sorts. He actually wanted a drink of water. Since it was after lunch part of him insisted that he shouldn't, using water was a break in frugality, Sickles didn't grow on trees.

Hell he only bathed after a potions accident.

But the boy, all glossy and clean, surely wouldn't want to abide by that. The brat cringed at each dust bunny as if it were the Dark Lord reborn, grime was criticized with a grimace, and baths were going to be a norm for now if that haughty expression was anything to go by. For the brat anyway. As for him, he'd just have to endure and be endured.

Nothing new with that.

Nothing new at all.

Still, all assurances to the contrary his feet carried him to the kitchen. And for the first time in almost seven years, he broke with routine.

"Accio."

A hand, no foolish want waving required, just a flick of his hand and the cabinet popped open and a cup floated out. Snapping up the glass, streaks and all, he took it to the sink and fussed with nobs he only sort of remembered. A few rattles, a hiccup and clang and the water gushed out. Clear, clean, steaming.

Whatever. Temperature hardly mattered. Filling, full, swilled, he tossed the now empty cup into the sink and turned off the water after something of a struggle.

Damned rust, he'd have to do something about it. Perhaps a mild acid from the lab…

An exchange of sorts had taken place. his tongue was burning, his throat aching and tight. But that ashy taste was gone.

And those things about the edges of his vision. All black and swirling and masked in white (such the ash had summoned) eased back a bit in the face of the unfamiliar.

He recalled tea. An abstract thought really, no taste recalled, it was just a noun. Tea; the noun, a thing, something one drinks. He hadn't indulged in the stuff so long he scarcely recalled its taste. Actually, he didn't. But despite not remembering he mentally added it to a list of "things to buy while they were out" and wondered what the hell was getting into him.

"I'm ready to go! Do _all_ Muggles dress this stupid?"

Well, whatever was getting into him he didn't know. But he did know what was getting on his nerves. His last nerve.

"My childhood clothes are not stupid you ingrate!" Snape growled out, storming out of the kitchen and where the brat could see him. Shame coats didn't snap quite as nicely as robes. Still ,the boy paled nicely enough. Dropping his volume, exchanging it for silkiness, he looked the child up and down. "Your boots, Mr. Malfoy, I leant you a pair."

A huff, though pale the boy had the audacity to tip his head back. Snape spied a dirty nose but didn't comment. It'd only protract things.

"They pinch my toes." The brat whined.

"Dragon hide is not the norm in Muggle society Mr. Malfoy, now either turn around and go put them on or we'll take the second option right here right now."

No running this time, only stomping, not pleased with that development the elder wizard snapped out a stinging hex. A yalp and hop told him it'd hit. Whipping back, looking back, the boy stared at him with wide wet eyes and a reddening nose.

"Spare me, Mr. Malfoy, and hurry up. You've five minutes or I'm coming up."

When the fool boy looked at him, all wide eyes and stupid, he just _had_ to snarl.

"You _don't _want me coming up."

The boy was back to running, never mind the wince that preceded it, speed was speed and that's all Snape wanted.


	3. A World to Send you

Savior of the Broken Beaten and the

Chapter 3

A World to send you realing...

The first problem had come at the stop light. Though his seroundings were decrepit (in Muggle fashion, which was all the more depressing), spotted with graffiti, young eyes had wandered and spied some rather… precocious words on the wall. He'd caught the boy mouthing said words. Still, he wasn't speaking them aloud, and so it wasn't Severus' concern.

Lucius could deal with his brat whenever he returned.

Mouthing unspeakable all accidental. Soap worthy ones not the Azkaban worthy ones, they boy wound about cracks and the like not daring to step on a jag.

After all, step on a crack break your mother's back…

Eyes focused inward, murmuring snippets, the boy got into the spirit of things. Shedding decorum and the like and, while he didn't skip, he did a few hops on the trickiest spans of sidewalk that might have passed muster. Losing restraint as they went along, the boy's volume was increasing to the point he was almost audible.

Thus Severus was back to wondering if he should correct.

Deciding again that it was Lucius' problem, he stopped.

His ward, not knowing the import of a red light on high passed by his dark clad elder without a thought in his blond head.

"F-"

Looking up from the light, a glance down confirmed the obvious. The boy was no longer in his place, or at his side. Realization, revelation, he reached out, arms snaking about the child, pulling him up and back.

"-f-ack!"

Snape wouldn't be caught dead "holding" anyone, so he'd snatched and released. One shove and the brat was sprawled, watching in stupefied wonder as something massive upon wheels roared over the black span he'd of taken. Span… which was a road (Muggle variety mind) he'd of learned had he dared ask. As it was he never thought to ask. Grey eyes roved up, met black, the child's expression of shock twisted to outrage. Face reddening he opened his mouth-

"Mum! Mum!" A child, a different child. Severus craned his head to better glare at the little brat. Get one, the others come in droves, perhaps next outing out he'd cast a disillusionment spell on the littlest Malfoy to ward off the magnetic effects of having one of the snot nosed things acquire more.

He'd have the think that one over.

"Lookit the idiot!"

Hmmm… not so much a nuisance… one second thought, maybe he wouldn't cast that spell.

Face reddening for a different reason, Malfoy glared at the boy and his mother. Who was tolerantly letting herself be pulled along.

Muggle (worthless, hissed his training) clad, both were embroiled in such familiarity with the other that it made his pale features twist into outrage of another kind. How dare they… that.. boy thing… act so.. _improper_? How dare he judge. How dare he act like a little hellion, pointing and smiling all the while?

And the pointing, it made Malfoy ache for a wand.

(_After all, he wasn't allowed to point, or run ahead, or act improper and like a little hellion, how dare anyone else be able to do so_)

"Lookit the dunce, Mummy, walked into a red light…"

"Hush." The woman, plain, unmagical and disgusting because of both, scolded. Shedding her anonymoscity all accidental, she came closer, enough so that he couldn't pretend not to look at her. Smiling slightly, scolding her offspring with the barest of taps to the head she frowned at him, all open and worried. Draco squirmed under the tender assault. "Mr…" From him to Snape she looked, wondered. "Mr. Snape… is everything alright with your boy?"

"Fine." Ahead, beyond, Snape considered the light, waiting for it to turn. Behind, below, Draco struggled, stood, his hands smarted. Burned really. "Just a tumble on the boy's part."

"That's good… well it wasn't good he fell, but I'm glad that…"

Not looking up Snape waved a long fingered hand, beckoning her to silence. She either didn't see or care at the wizard's gesture.

(and that was wrong, wronger than wrong…)

She drew near, face puckered, indulging in a half frogish crouch before him. Then she did the unspeakable, this thing, this Muggle. She met his eyes. Jewel like, pretty so pretty Mummy would have wanted them (or something akin to them) on a chain and wound about her neck. Draco blanched at the creature's approach (save it wasn't, not a creature, creature's were its and she was a she, and pretty too), crept back until he bumped against something big and black. With blind eyes, for all he could see was her, not a Muggle, but a _her_, (and that scared him more than anything) he reached. Though large, the coat was a simple thing, with seams you didn't have to see.

One tug, one whimper, and she as gone, he was gone, lost in the folds of black.

Standing, steady, Malfoy pressed against the black and never mind if it was Muggle, there was folds and volume to hide under. So hide he did. Still, stiff, the potions master neither approved nor disapproved the touch. At least he didn't feel strongly enough to shove his attachment away.

Unknowing he shook (was shook) and caused a sizable chunk of Snape's coat to quiver with him

The Muggle's (hers) eyes were blue, just like…

(Evil thought bad bad. He pushed it back. A headache bloomed where it had been)

Like Mummy's, save it wasn't. Mum, Mummy or mother even. Lady Mother at best, a most indulgent tepid best.

Bitter best.

Recollection, father's voice, revelation

"The thing about girls… women really, is that they all want to be princesses."

Braver than the bravest Lion he peaked out form the edges. Peered up at eyes that were and weren't familiar. She was smiling, soft tender things he couldn't name twisting her features into patterns he shouldn't have recognized. Couldn't have recognized.

He hadn't seen them before after all. Still they tugged at something in turn, those patterns all unfamiliar.

There was no finery on her. No rings, no jewelry (save those eyes) no silks of scents adults called exotic. She didn't walk, towards him or anywhere, as if she wore the weight of some invisible crown on her brow. Still, she was wealthier by far, for the riches in her eyes.

No princess ever crouched, not like that. Not frog like. Still she did, waited for him to creep out. When she didn't she stood. Idly ignoring her giggling offspring.

"Are you alright sweetie?"

Dumbly he nodded, never knowing that she could see him. A chill digit tapped his skull, made him look up. Revisiting his inner fish, he goggled at the Professor.

"An Answer, Ms. Stevens requires a verbal answer if you would."

She glared at the professor, her kindness dimmed under irritation. "Really Severus, he's scared stiff…"

"Hardly." Her scorn didn't touch her target. There was something oily about the black, and not just about the man's head. "He's too blind for real fear."

Quiet, a moment, two…

"Your son, I assume?" There was a bite and growl to her inflection.

She bristled at the raised eyebrow that was the man's response. Between blinks Draco was sure he spied a badge. As it was, while the adults glowered, her child looked on with wide eyes. Silver met blue, two worlds' touched accidentally.

"No, I'm merely babysitting for the foreseeable future."

Green had flickered to yellow, descended to a bloody red at time's passing. A block, separate yet attached by a thick rod, was attuned t the descent, and when yellow became red it flared with the blockish image of a man in mid step Spying his prize Severus rumbled an order without words, his nudge and snarl indicated direction.

Forward, alongside the white path among the black, all was still but not. _Things_ rumbled and roiled. Smoke and light and muted roars. There were dragons of a wheeled variety, another (nudge… no shove, he'd nearly staggered under it) encouraged him forward.

But he couldn't, wouldn't'. There were monsters, _monsters_ all glossy and bright up ahead! Didn't he _see_ that!

Looking back and up, face open, expression terrorized (sins to a snake, but even serpents had limits to their cold blood) he wanted to beg. Take me home. Put me back where I belong. Black met grey, then slow but sure that head shook. No… No! He was _important_, someone _special_! No one said no to him!

Vacillating between tantrum and breakdown he didn't take a step.

Red fell to green. With roars the Things raced forward in a rush of bitter smoke. He coughed, wheezed, might of staggered forwards if it weren't for the cold hand holding him back.

"Is he alright?" Gone was the brittle anger, and that something (all soft and unspeakable) filled till stuffed the syllable. Beyond it all, he fought to breathe.

"Parents… car accident… flashback... confusion…"

"Oh! The poor dear.."

They weren't poor! He opened his mouth to how at that outrage and wheezed instead.

Tears burned behind his eyes. He told his heart to stop it's thundering, tried to summon something of Daddy's sternness (save it wasn't Daddy, only Lord Father). And, please of please, stop right now. The other boy, the Muggle wasn't scarred, so he shouldn't be. Right? Right.

But the roars and the rumbles and smoke brought him to the conclusion that those lined things, those racing things, were dragons that weren't _right_. Not right. He suddenly craved white walls, bitter bright smiles that were comforting in their insincerity. Grace, he missed it. In others, in himself. Home was where the quiet was, where safety was. Where dragons that weren't _weren't_!

"H..Hi?

Overlooked, underfoot the other boy had crept forward. His mother's eyes shining from that otherwise plain face.

Above, beyond, they quarreled. Her back was back at his idle bite. Amused, for if he wasn't he wouldn't have indulged her the time of day much less a fight. Severus seemed to forget charge and standing all at once.

Save for that cold hand, that bit whenever to turned. Nails sunk in, a warning, a reminder.

"Hello."

Should he bow? Wizards bowed to each other. But this was a Muggle. As he dithered, wide eyes widening, the problem neatly solved itself. (The Muggle, Mudwallower, animal, thing, creature) It smiled. And that smile… could have made the thing (person) a wizard.

The woman's' softness was alive and well in every line and every feature of the boy's frame,

"I'm… My name's Justin, what's yours."

That softness, that something… no insincerity, he couldn't' find it no matter how much he hunted through tone and inflection of the other boy's greeting.

"D.. Draco… Draco Malfoy."

"Draco." Dilemma, well again, well met. As the boy fumbled through the odd sounding name –it's oddness a gift via the other child's inflection- Draco wrestled the demons of etiquette.

What to do? should he bow? Nod? Smile too?

Training, meet indecision.

He froze; meeting realized and thus frozen declared the winner without meaning too.

"Draco… Like a dragon, wicked!"

"Yes…" Grace abandoned him at revelation, he smiled.

Those… _things_ weren't the only _not_ dragon around after all.

Then, storm above (all hard words and withering glares) touched down, counseling silence for both children all the while.

She was nearly barking. She wheeled _her's_ back as if to protect her own from those bitter black eyes. To that, Snape smirked, all wound up and in his blackness he indulged a spot of like colored humor at all their expense.

At least that's what the smirk assured.

"I do hope, _Professor_, that you're acquaintances do find a more suitable accommodation for your Draco."

"He's not mine, I assure you madam."

Silence, waiting, moment broken.

"Really?" Disbelief failed so well to describe her tone. This seemed another effort, of scorn, in an ongoing struggle. The indulgent smile on Snape's face assured one and all she'd failed. Still when she added her inflections of disbelief the mix was met with better results.

He pointed glance, long hand over little shoulder, seemed a rebuttal he couldn't shake.

"Yes." Release, a swipe down coat's front as if Snape didn't want to waste words saying how distasteful the touch was so he'd show it instead...

Draco tried not to be hurt.

"Really…"

Justin rolled his eyes, and Draco found looking at something level to him made the hurt go away faster. Another eye roll, and to that spot of bravery in the Badger's son, Draco grinned. Then blinked, blanked his face as Snape's glowered down at him after catching Justin's look first time around.

"If you suspect he's… Well if you're the best…"

Black eyes flicked up, after marking child and children as insignificant.

"Spit it out woman."

A breathe, a sigh. "If you're the best then what are they like?"

_They_. Short didn't mean stupid. Draco strained his ears. Rallying flagging attention for "adult things" he set himself to listening so he could report it latter.

After all Lord Father would want to know what others said of him.

When he came back.

(If he came back)

"They." Mother, father, all were encompassed in that word. "Are adequate."

It was hard to divide sarcasm from scorn, so the boy didn't try.

"Really?" Funny, hearing the same inflections in someone who was so soft. Draco almost giggled, another finger bite told him not too.

"He's breathing, isn't he?"

To that there was no reply.


End file.
